Faction Revelry in the Holy Worlds

[Spirit of Korriban]

Ascendant Revels in the Holy Worlds


Nar-Hakel Sithspawn Race & Revelries
Korriban, Outer Rim Territories
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War had come like a crashing wave.​

The Imperial Confederation had believed the Holy Worlds to be vulnerable; separated and isolated from Jutrand and its greater network of allies. They thought Korriban and its kin, Brosi and Dromund Kaas, would fall before their divided advance. Instead, the Confederation had broken itself upon the unified forces of the Imperial Sith Order.

Above Brosi, above Dromund Kaas and Korriban, the invaders had been met only with ruin. Korriban's and the Commonwealth's expansive fleets, led by Admiral Elmindra Xitaar and the Commonwealth's Captain Rowyna Galeway , burned the Imperial vanguard from orbit across numerous battlefields, accompanied by the might of Darth Carnifex .

On Brosi's poisoned surface, Gerwald Lechner of the Order's Dark Council fought upon the war's frontlines. Darth Strosius of the Wonosan cults and Helix with his droid contingents pushed the enemy back, while the Corpse Lord, Darth Nefaron , remained steadfast against the tides of the Imperial's assault. Unbeknownst to all, Darth Caedes , the King of Korriban, joined with Empress Srina Talon , Lady Revna Marr and Korriban's Lord Seer, Madrona A’Mia , in the weaving of a massive terraforming ritual. Together they planted the great Seed of Psilofyr, a purifying answer to the genocidal Candorian Blight which had so ravaged Brosi's population into apocalypse. A great tree, grown at speed by the effects of the ritual, Psilofyr's roots were imbued with the properties required to reclaim Brosi; to revitalize its poisoned surface and atmosphere, and rejuvenate its status as a rich resource world. The message could not have been more clear: the Sith Order did not merely endure the galaxy's cruelty, but thrived within it.

Thus the Confederation was broken, and in the aftermath the Holy Worlds rose as one. On Ziost and Dromund Kaas, on Krayiss II and Florrum, on Makem Te and Brosi, Sith leadership seized upon this rich opportunity to ignite patriotism and the spirit of war. Recruitment drives and Kor'ethyr Academy's enrollment swelled with new zeal; monuments rose to honor the fallen and the triumphant alike. Celebrations erupted across every Holy World, each shaped by its world's culture—ritual hunts, duels and contests of valor, festivals and expensive galas wherein aristocrats whispered of war and of the glory yet to come.​

And nowhere did that zeal burn brighter than on Korriban.

OBJECTIVE I — ASCENDANT REVELRIES​

The spires of Vardin glowed with the strobing lights of celebration, their stalagmite towers aflame with lanterns and neon lighting. Across their tiered heights, the capital spilled into riotous celebration. Bass heavy music rose like thunder from the spire-bottoms, the pounding of drums and the wail of spirited flutes woven into deep and throaty spoken word chanting. From the broad avenues and thoroughfares below to the tower-tops, the city was given over to festival: feasts, dueling and violence, rooms thick with narcotic haze, and the spectacle of the beast races thundering through the desert below and televised across intergalactic holo-feeds.

The tables sagged with imported abundance. Grilled fish shimmered in blue-bubbling sauces, Nuna game birds crisped to perfection, heaps of Felucian fruits brined in fire salts, and great spits of spiced and exotic meat hung from great hooks and filled the air with delicious smoke. Dark liquors poured like rivers, heady and aromatic, while dusts and powders more potent than drink passed from hand to hand, staining lips, and unshackling inhibitions.

Amidst the throngs moved the Jen'ari. The undead servants had been bathed and perfumed for the night, their corpses bound in fresh linens, their necks and wrists and hips laden with heavy, golden jewelry. They did not stumble nor moan; these glided with an eerie grace, bearing trays of crystal goblets and small dishes of strange, sometimes still-wriggling delights. Guests took from the unliving servants without fear, having long since embraced the dead as merely an instrument of the King's hospitality.​

The Holy Worlds had been tested, and had overcome. Now they feast upon victory.

OBJECTIVE II — THE NAR-HAKEL CIRCUIT​

Spoiler: The Rules

RACE RULES

• How to use the dice on Chaos? This race involves the use of dice (which are an official resource provided by the site). If you have any questions about the use of dice for this thread, please contact Darth Caedes for clarification. When you go to post, there will be a "Roll Dice" button already integrated, near the posting box. Click it to roll, and make sure that you've selected 20 sided dice (it defaults to 6 sided), and check that you're only rolling 1 of those dice. You actually have to post in order to see the roll's results, and the results cannot be changed or re-rolled once posted. As such, many racers elect to write their posts intro, post with the dice roll, then go back in and finish their post according to the number they've rolled.​
• 5 legs, 5 rolls​

( Streets of Vardin, Ashlan Crash Site, Valley of the Dark Lords, Nethermaw Tunnels, finish at Streets of Vardin ) 1 post, 1 leg.

For each post, roll a 20 sided die. Include proof of the roll in your post (there is a function in the post box for this).

• Score of 1 (or lower) = a wreck, you're out of the race!​
• Score of 20 (or higher) = immune to crashing in your next post!​
• Some locations will add/subtract from your roll, affecting your performance based on the track's difficulty. Add or subtract these modifiers from your dice roll, then add bonuses from Sabotage/Support actions. Any subtractions which reduce a roll score to 1 (or lower) do count as a wreck. Any additions which raise a roll score to 20 (or higher) grant the rider immunity from crashing in their next post.​
• Score of 10-19 = Sabotage/Support. Target a racer. Sabotage: -1 to their next roll. Support: +1 to their next roll. Each racer may sabotage once per race, and support once per race. When sabotaging or supporting another racer, be sure to tag them and let them know! Kor'ethyr faculty will be watching to help out.​

LOCATIONS

• Vardin City Streets: No terrain modifiers.​
• Ashlan Crash Site: -2 terrain modifier.​
• Valley of the Dark Lords: +1 terrain modifier.​
• Nethermaw Tunnels: -3 terrain modifier.​
• Final Stretch: +2 terrain modifier.​

Highest Score = fastest time. A tie results in multiple victories.

Spoiler: The Course

Nar-Hakel Circuit. The Kor'ethyr Academy's Nar-Hakel Circuit, on Korriban, is a grueling test of speed and skill, winding through iconic locations steeped in world history. Starting in the bustling streets of Vardin, the course quickly takes racers into the trackless Golg Desert, where racers navigate through the wreckage of Ashlan battleships at the Ashlan Crash Site. Next, they enter the Valley of the Dark Lords, a winding canyon passage lined with towering statues and enshadowed tombs, before descending into the treacherous Nethermaw Tunnels—pitch-black caverns filled with jagged and dangerous rock-column formations. Finally, emerging back into the open desert, racers speed toward Vardin's towering skyline in a straight shot to the finish line, cheered on by the gathered crowds.​

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Streets of Vardin (start). Amid the bustling streets of Vardin, the race begins as spectators line the towering spires, waving banners and cheering on the students. The gathered Sithspawn mounts line up in loose starting grids, each bearing the vibrant colors of their houses: sandy browns and oranges of House Tuk'ata, the fierce reds of House Rakghoul, and the elegant purples and silver trim of House Derriphan. The track winds through Vardin's main promenade, a relatively straight stretch that offers racers a fast-paced warm-up before plunging them into the open desert. Engines ignite in unison, filling the city with a thrilling hum.
Modifier: N/A​

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Ashlan Crash Site. Crossing Vardin's city limits, the racers enter the expansive Golg Desert, where the massive wreckage of fallen Ashlan battleships punctuate the sands like colossal gravestones. Rusting metal fragments and shattered hulls jut out of the ground, grim reminders of Caedes' brutal reclamation of Korriban. Navigating this graveyard demands agility and nerve, as the course weaves between fallen behemoth-battlecruisers, forcing riders to dive under twisted wreckage or through hollowed passages in the crumbling warships. A foreboding silence fills the air, and the ships seem to loom, casting long shadows that stretch toward each starfighter as they race by.
Modifier: -2​

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Valley of the Dark Lords. At the edge of the desert, a massive cliff rises like the walls of a fortress, marking the entrance to the Valley of the Dark Lords. This winding valley stretches for miles, flanked by colossal statues of ancient Sith and dotted with shadowy tombs. The course is wide enough for speed, but sharp turns around ancient stone figures and sudden gusts of dust-laden wind challenge each racer's skill.
Modifier: +1​

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Nethermaw Tunnels. From the valley, racers plunge into the gaping maw of the Nethermaw Tunnels, a subterranean network of blackened caverns that carve through the desert rock. Here, visibility drops to nothing but the faint glow of their starfighter lights slicing through darkness in cones, illuminating rows of jagged stalagmites and stalactites that crowd the narrow passage. The tunnels twist unpredictably here, forcing caution in the pitch-black void. Every turn and tunnel wall poses a new risk, making this the race's most harrowing challenge.
Modifier: -3​

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Final Stretch. Emerging from the Nethermaw Tunnels, the racers are greeted again by the vast Golg Desert, Vardin's towering skyline beckoning them on the horizon. A straightaway welcomes them, lined with roaring crowds and the glint of celebration as they re-enter the city. With the finish line in sight, the cheers and flash of lights add fuel to each racer's last surge of adrenaline.
Modifier: +2​

Housed in the King's Throne City of Vardin, the Nar-Hakel Circuit has become legend amongst the thrill seekers and adrenaline junkies of the galaxy.

Today, the track's starting line writhes with the world's fastest and most dangerous Sithspawn, terrible creatures of selective and sometimes alchemized breeding, designed or modified in Kor'ethyr's most prestigious laboratories, and tamed by the Academy's robust husbandry programs. Black-painted rancors, clad in bone plating, snarl and clutch at their teams of Jen'ari handlers. Massive Drexl, sithspawned adar dragons and winged hydras snap at one another and stretch their wings in colorful displays of dominance. Force sensitive Hssiss coil their tales irritably and hiss. All around, diverse terrors growl in their harnesses: mutated Tuk'ata, spine-backed ravagers and primal looking reptiles, lumbering bestial giants turned into cruel companions and weapons for the Sith.

The course itself is known to be merciless. The Nar-Hakel circuit begins at the heart of the King's Throne City, Vardin, on Korriban. It winds through the city streets and emerges on a ruined battlefield leftover from the reclamation of Korriban from its Ashland occupiers. These battlefields are littered with the picked over remains of fallen starships and industrial wreckage. The track continues through the Valley of the Dark Lords, where statues of the Sith's forebears leer down at the racers, and into the subterranean Nethermaw Tunnels, notoriously dangerous among race tracks galaxy-wide. The final stretch—a straightaway run back into the heart of Vardin's towering spires—forces every last bit of stamina from its exhausted sithspawn mounts, delivering their riders into the roaring arenas where-above the King and his Council watch.

The crowds roar, representing the colors of Kor'ethyr's various Academic Houses. Bets are made, money is exchanged and gambles are wagered. The undead Jen'ari weave among the masses, pale and perfumed, carrying trays of glittering refreshments and saucy drumsticks of spiced meat. Ironically, their silent devotion lends a grotesque sort of contrast to the frenzy of the excited audiences. Laughter, shrieks, and chants rise as the gates open and the racers take their positions on the backs of dangerous sithspawn.​

CHOOSE YOUR RACER!​

RANCOR MAELIDRAE HSSISS DREXL ADAR DRAKE

• 
  
  

  
  RANCOR
  "Shadow rancors have a darker skin tone and a more destructive nature than the primary species."
  ―From the journal of Ardis San Tekka​
  
  Mount: Shadow Rancor
  Ability:
  
  • Tank. Shrug off fumbles with pure endurance. When rolling a 1-5, Rancors add +2 to their roll.
  • Slow. When rolling 19-20, Rancors treat the roll as an 18 for the purposes of keeping score. They retain all other benefits of rolling a 20.
• 
  
  

  
  MAELIDRAE
  "The Lord of the Circle demanded something with remarkable quickness. Our students at Kor'ethyr have improved upon that pool with applied, selective breeding."
  —@Zal Aditi the Voice of Hunger, to Darth Caedes ​
  
  Mount: Maelidrae
  Ability:
  
  • Skirmisher. Lash out with fangs or claws. When rolling a 17-19, target a racer, Predator inflicts -2 to their next roll. This cannot be used in the same round as Support. When targeting another racer, be sure to tag them and let them know! Kor'ethyr faculty will be watching to help out.
  • Rebellious. Designed to be difficult to control. When rolling ≤ 7, Maelidrae suffer an additional -2 to their score for that round.
• 
  
  

  
  HSSISS
  "Hssiss are semi-intelligent beasts, corrupted and strengthened by prolonged exposure to the dark side."
  ―Kreia, to Meetra Surik​
  
  Mount: Hssiss
  Ability:
  
  • Comeback Artist. The Hssiss calls upon the Force for a final burst of speed. The Hssiss receives an additional +2 on the race's Final Stretch.
  • Selective. Can only be ridden by a Force Sensitive rider.
• 
  
  

  
  DREXL
  "What an impressive, flying beast he rides! I've never seen one like it!"
  "These beasts originally come from the nearby moon. The Onderonians tame them, but this one was too vicious to be handled."
  ―Exar Kun and Cay Qel-Droma​
  
  Mount: Drexl
  Ability:
  
  • Flyer. Flyers receive an additional +2 on the race's first leg, Streets Of Vardin (start), and ignore the -2 modifier on the race's second leg, Ashlan Crash Site.
  • Rebellious. Designed to be difficult to control. When rolling ≤ 7, Drexl suffer an additional -2 to their score for that round.
• 
  
  

  
  ADAR | DRAGON
  "It's said that the creation of these draconic Sithspawn left Diarch Rellik forever scarred."
  — Darth Caedes to Zal Aditi​
  
  Mount: Adar
  Ability:
  
  • Lightning Breath. Breath out a flash of devastating lightning. When rolling a 17-19, target a racer, Lightning Breath inflicts -3 to their next roll. This cannot be used in the same round as Support. The Adar may use Lightning Breath once per race. When targeting another racer, be sure to tag them and let them know! Kor'ethyr faculty will be watching to help out.
  • Higher Up, Higher-Stakes. When rolling ≤ 5, Adar suffer an additional -3 to their score for that round.
• 
  
  

  
  MASINI ARIRA
  "They were designed as a part of the renewed Sithspawn creation program on behalf of Darth Arcanix."
  — Darth Caedes regarding Taeli Raaf​
  
  Mount: Battle Drake
  Ability:
  
  • Comeback Artist. The Drake calls upon the Force for a final burst of speed. The Hssiss receives an additional +2 on the race's Final Stretch.
  • Selective. Can only be ridden by a Force Sensitive rider.

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OBJECTIVE III — NIGHT OF REVELS (BYOO)​

Beyond the Nar-Hakel Circuit and its tower-top audiences, all of Korriban thrums with celebration. All throughout the shadowed plazas of Vardin's lower levels, its temple districts, and in the great cities world-wide, the Sith make the day of the race into a long night of revels. Rich and seedy chambers alike host feasts and dances, where wine flows and other exotic pleasures are nothing if not abundant. In torchlit fighting pits, Sith warriors and beasts are loosed to slake the crowd's hunger for blood and gambling. In more distinguished crowds, dueling rings hum and whirr with the blaze of Sith lightsabers, where aspiring and returning heroes clash for valor beneath the cold stars of Korriban.​

Bring your own objective, and decide how you and your allies mark this night of spectacle!​

OOC Coordination Thread:

• OOC Revelry of the Holy Worlds

Interested Parties:

• Naamino Zuukamano Haro Aven Lysander von Ascania Leshanna Dromar Varin Mortifer Kivah Rayth Adean Castor Ghruna Avarice Revna Marr Ufsa'ynth'aris Srina Talon Elmindra Xitaar Gerwald Lechner Madrona A’Mia Aerik Lechner Darth Strosius Diarch Reign Diarch Rellik Lodd Grimmin Drystan Creed Maiza Vex Quinn Varanin Kaila Irons Tamsin Graves Lirka Ka Darth Avida Darth Hydra Velda Nar-Donna Xander Blackmoore Ryn Starfall Darth Carnifex Darth Prazutis Delsin Shaw Madelyn Lowe Eira Dyn Braith Achlys Xeykard Taeli Raaf Mellifluous Magenta Darth Virelia

 

[Lysander von Ascania]

Objective I: Ascendent Revelries

Zaiya Ceti

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​

As he made his way to Korriban, the sealed letter for Darth Strosius burned a hole in his mind; a mystery, stirring excitement that coursed through his veins with each and every step. His professor's unusual gesture only fueled such anticipation, believing deep down that this journey carried more weight than the others he was typically assigned.

Willingly so, he traversed the familiar red sands.

Afterwards, he chose to stay, until the day arrived when he was now standing alone in one of the grand halls, the very air alive with the thrumming of life. His verdant gaze swept over a nearby holo-feed, scanning the races with interest, for he was aware a few other idiot Badawans would be competing.

It didn't take long for something else to steal his focus: a Sithspawn, one exuding an aura of menace and raw power. The teen's eyes widened in awe, drawn to this creature. Perhaps it was even an echo of the Neti's own obsession embedding deep in him, like poison through osmosis.

Time spent in her shadow etched the species name into his memory.

Through the Weave he reached, an invisible strand linked to Madrona A’Mia , where there would be zero hesitation in speaking his desire.

< A’Miaaaa, might it be possible to have a baby Maelridae once we return to Bros? >

A beat passed in the quiet of his mind before adding one final bit.

< I’ll even feed and clean up after it. On my life! >

Before long, unconsciously, he was lingering near one of the set tables. Through the goblets and every other temptation fighting for his attention, it was the vivid hues of Felucian fruits glistening on a platter that won, more appealing than the blood of a fallen Jedi.

Lysander was hypnotized, as though an exotic Twi'lek dancer from the underbelly of Nar Shaddaa was before him, the type of temptation that came with a price tag.

Still, this didn't necessarily come as a surprise. His morning training had begun before dawn, pushing his limits and now leaving his stomach churning like a black hole. And given that he passed by the academy's greenhouse shortly after, it was certain he indulged in another ritual as well.

Together, they hit him like a divine prophecy.

If such luscious offerings were served here, amidst the opulence of Korriban’s finest, then surely they were nothing less than exquisite.

In a world of black, he gave a nod to a splash of color, dressed in a royal blue tunic and dark leggings. Beyond the noise, a single undercurrent of unease tugged at him without mercy.

Strange enough, he could not name its cause.

The sensation was as maddening as it was persistent!

 

[Madrona A’Mia]

Objective One
Ascendant Revelries ​

Upcoming festivities had fully captured A'Mia’s attention, and her energy had been channeled almost exclusively to preparations for that. She'd made time to check on her experiments, of course, and was keenly reading all reports coming out of Brosi in her brief absence. It was a lot to juggle, but she was equal to the task, and her kind could get away with less sleep than a lot of other species.

A'Mia made her way through crowded streets for a time, taking in the sights and sounds of commoners— allowing herself to slip more into the viewpoint of the Murakami. Despite all the time that had elapsed, it was still clinging to some strange sense of self, caged within her. She had total control of the sentient flower; it needed her to survive, but it also offered her a unique perspective, much more emotionally attuned than her own.

The hustle and bustle of the common folk around her was testament to that. Viewed through her own eyes, they were much like ants—hardworking and productive, but largely uninteresting other than the role they served to maintain a functioning city. Through the sense of the orchid, though? The streets came alive with intention, rife with bright emotion, and an overall sense of eager anticipation for festivities to come.

It was in this meandering reverie that Lysander von Ascania tugged upon their telepathic bond, a connection made only stronger by recent events on Brosi.

Kor'ethyr's Sithspawn husbandry program has recently benefited from an influx of funding and is doing quite well, as you can see by the variety of creatures featured today— that does not mean you have carte blanche to go pick out a pet for yourself.​

A'Mia chided idly through their mental connection.

She used the stroll as a meditative practice, despite being pressed for time, and allowed her mind to drift amongst the thronging crowds. The walk was an enjoyable prelude for the activities to come, and soon she found herself climbing high to join the more exclusive celebration happening high above in the spires. A sudden thought occurred as she made her way yet higher, and a more mischievous message drifted to the enterprising young nobleman.

Newly founded Spore Industries could use additional security for some of our dealings, though. That ship of yours might benefit from onboard protection that can't be sliced or short-circuited….​

It wasn't implicit approval of the idea, but A'Mia thought that giving the teen something to work toward was good for him. In truth, so long as there were no unwarranted deaths tied to a rogue Sithspawn from the breeding program, what harm was there in allowing the boy to build new skills?

A'Mia's arrival to the party was discreet enough that no fanfare was made, and she was able to take stock of those present with quiet ease. She did not go unnoticed by the other Lords, of course. Elmindra Xitaar ’s cunning gaze missed little, and Darth Caedes was uniquely attuned to A'Mia's presence without need for line of sight. The arboreal woman took her time to slowly circle the room and offered only a few pleasantries to those she passed. Her expression was airy and far away, as if listening to a song no one else could hear.

The dress she wore flowed about her. Still-living foliage was stitched together by Sith alchemy and kept verdant through sorcery as well as a bond with its wearer. Individual leaves, like huge petals from a great flower, wafted and trembled as if in a breeze. When she stepped into areas of shadow, the dress faintly glimmered with bioluminescence triggered only in the absence of light.

It was rare that she wore something which showed her legs and rarer still that she chose a truly bipedal shape for herself. But today she favored a classical dryad look; barefoot as ever, red-brown bark gleaming with vitality and her long, green, vine-like hair worn up in a loc style series of twists. At her neck was fastened the ornate necklace of ferrus spheres she was almost never without and slung over her shoulder was a bag similarly botanical as the rest of her.

Swaying to the tune of some private melody, A'Mia made her way over to a table laden with all manner of fine refreshments. All the while she continued to scan for one person in particular.

Darth Strosius​

 

[Varin Mortifer]

Objective 2: The Nar-Hakel Circuit

The streets were full of activity, conversation, movement, laughter, traffic….especially the traffic. It was a celebration of sith victory upon defending Brosi. A victory that was still very much fresh to Varin. Though the time in the bacta tank healed him of his burns, his right arm he kept wrapped in medical bandages. Ashamed to look at the scarring from a simple error he made that almost cost him a limb. Though it healed he could still feel the searing pain of that blade. His mind drifted to the battlefield as the sounds around him lulled to a quiet. Replaced with blaster fire and screaming.

A quick tug on the leash on his hand brought him back as he looked down to his Tuk'ata pup. She was still very young, but she was very energetic today. Feeding off the energy of everyone around her, getting attention from various strangers wanting to pet her and give her “scritches”. Little Sinew was eating up all of the attention like a starving animal, but she was anything but that.

“Calm down girl, want a roast? I'm sure there's food vendors nearby.”

He smiled as he scratched behind her ears then looked at the lady that had accompanied him. The sith pureblood by the name of Nyara. What started as a sparring partnership blossomed into a friendship, and Varin wanted to take her to the celebration personally. Enjoy the festivities and even watch him in the very upcoming race.

Sinew however, was very possessive. Opting to quickly budge between the two sith as they walked the streets side by side. Varin kept his hands busy via holding the lead or running his thumb over his rosary of bone. He was nervous, not of the race but something else. He couldn't quite put his finger on it though.

In a fluid motion he swept Sinew up and passed her over to Nyara.

“I don't think the race will be waiting around for me. I should probably get ready.”

Scratching Sinew’s head he gave Nyara a small smirk as he turned away and made his way to the sithspawn kennels.

The smell of the kennels made his nostrils flare. Many scents danced around the room as he inspected each creature. Some snarled and bared their fangs at him, but his reaction was very calm around it all. He had dealt with troublesome creatures before, not Sithspawn perse, but there were similarities. One by one he looked, taking each of them in. One particular creature caught his eye. A smirk parted his lips as his gaze fell upon this impressive creature.

“Oh this will be so much fun.”

Nyara Dakhan​

 

[Kaila Irons]

Wearing: Dress
Tag: Darth Virelia Tamsin Graves | TBA

They had much to celebrate today.

The Stygian Caldera held firm in the face of their enemies, against an attack mean to tear down their iconography of power and mystery across the galaxy. To the outside world, they were the strong, united, and incomprehensible Gods that Anathemous wished them to be.

But the Lord of Echnos was not so keen.

Scars hidden carefully beneath her golden mane still stung, sore, where her Dûr'ashaarai's interface had been surgically removed from the base of her skull. If Anathemous had her way, she'd never fly again. Those moments before she blacked out in the cockpit, Bella 's interceptor on her smoking tail, her own ship feeding upon her blood to keep itself aloft... Sleeping, waking-it did not matter-she relived them often ever since.

But it seemed everyone was pushing for her to rest. Kirie , Jael Amnen , even Darth Virelia .

And so the stubborn Darth came, even if begrudgingly.

If nothing else, Tamsin Graves deserved to enjoy the wine and whatever else the Korribani had in store. Her actions had saved her and this was the least she could do to reward her.

They arrived together, the three of them, with Virelia in tow.

Anathemous looked anxious as they approached the Spires of Vardin, in stark contrast to the dark purple dress she wore. A silken half-skirt dragged behind her, whilst sharp pauldrons gleamed with the dusty-red haze of Korriban's sun. It was a touch more feminine than her usual wear, an indulgence the ever utilitarian warrior had been reminded to partake of more often, by a certain Nocturnist priestess.

However, the young Darth couldn't help wondering how the order would take her particular use of dyes, knowing full well they were her colors...

​

 

[Darth Carnifex]

The shuttle descended through the rusted skies, sleek black hull a stark contrast against the vivid reds and fiery oranges of Korriban's horizon. A quartet of fighters shadowed the shuttle's movements, the screech of their ion engines cutting through the revelry taking place below. As the ship came to a rest, the fighters peeled away and disappeared from view. The boarding ramp lowered, coming into contact with the ground with a resonating pitch, like that of a tolling bell.

Two columns of Crownguard emerged, their armor shining incandescently red in the sunlight. At their head of each column was a standard bearer, the black eclipse of the Kainate fluttering in the cold, arid wind. The Eye of Solomon, rendered out with Sith iconography, stared indomitably ahead at the center of each banner. Each column marched forward, the synchronized sound of their armored greaves creating an overlapping rhythmic procession as they continued on.

When they came to a stop, each column spaced out and turned inward, creating a wide pathway from the shuttle to the assembled revelers. Then, one by one, they began to bang the pommels of their long pole-axes into the ground at their feet.

Clang, clang, clang.

Again and again.

Clang, clang, clang.

This ghastly dirge only rose in crescendo as another group of figures began to descend the boarding ramp. At their head was Darth Carnifex, Dark Lord of the Sith and Eternal Father of the Kainate. He still wore His regalia of war, the armor pocked with carbon scoring and patches of dried blood. His helmet had been ritualistically removed prior to this moment, the hemoseal carefully undone as flesh and metal became separated once more. His scaled cloak trailed behind Him, weighted by the countless individual scales of harvested Mandalorian beskar.

He walked with a distinct imperious gait, one well-accustomed to spectacles such as this. Behind Him were others of His followers, those that had played an important role elsewhere in the battle. Sith Lords, generals, and admirals alike. They were likewise dressed in their armor and uniforms, having taken little to no time in changing themselves for this moment. They would wear the evidence of their struggle as boldly as they could, so that none could dare see to believe they did anything other than fight victoriously.

The two standard bearers had taken the time to wedge their poled banners into the earth and stone, anchoring it with heavy tungsten spikes. All would gaze upon the banner of the Kainate, the symbol of victory, and know what triumph had been achieved.

Each Crownguard chanted the Dark Lord's name in the Kainate ghoul-speak as He passed, the harsh and otherworldly rasp filling the air as quickly as their chanting percussion moment earlier.

"Kâr'Nifhex!"

"Kâr'Nifhex!"

"Kâr'Nifhex!"

Then another took up the chant, modifying it, their voice elongated and sibilant. "Kâââr'… Nifheeeexhh… Draaaazh'Ûûûlkaaaan… Akûûl'Nêêêkrithhh…" It was quickly picked up by the others, until the whole procession began to scream it. With each new utterance, the tempo was elevated, the repetition manic and frenzied.

"Kâr'Nifhex! Kâr'Nifhex! Kâr'Nifhex!"

"Drazh'Ûlkan! Drazh'Ûlkan!"

"Akûl'Nêkrith! Akûl'Nêkrith!"

The chant devolved into a storm, a whirlwind of violent crescendo that seemed to follow little rhyme or reason. It was broken as all the Crownguard suddenly roared in frightening unison, their voices eclipsing all other sounds.

"KÂR'NIFHEX, DRAZH'ÛLKAN AKÛL'NÊKRITH!"

Carnifex, the Greatest of Immortals.

 

[Darth Virelia]

"Weighted Down."

Tags - Kaila Irons Tamsin Graves

She arrived as a rumor given shape.

Virelia let the Spires of Vardin swallow her silhouette while bass rolled up the stone like thunder. Tyrant's Embrace skimmed the torch-light in cold facets: the insectile eyes of her helm glowed a patient violet, the corseted spine drew a clean line of sovereignty down her back, and the split cape trailed fire-dark gradients that made the air look bruised where she moved. She had been invited—an amusing verb for an exile—and she intended to behave like a guest who remembered how to take a throne without sitting in it.

The city howled celebration. Jen'ari glided with perfumed trays; drums hammered the blood into a dance; the towers themselves seemed to breathe. Virelia tasted salt and smoke through the mask. Victory had a scent anywhere you went: hot metal, sweet liquor, the quiet panic of people deciding where power would rest now that the killing had paused.

Anathemous appeared at her side, tension coiled under a dress that would have drawn every stare even if its wearer were no one at all. It was a blade masquerading as silk—black and gunmetal, a sculpted bodice with barbed, intricate pauldrons, a dark half-skirt and sheathing greaves that turned her legs into living filigree. The dyes rode the light in shades perilously close to Virelia's own palette. How quickly gossip moved on Korriban; how eagerly it sought color to paint a story.

She let herself enjoy the sight, because kindness began with honesty. Anathemous carried anxiety like a second garment, but she wore the dress beyond well. "Stunning as always, Lord of Blades." Virelia appraised. "You deserve every stare, they will pay attention to their soon-to-be Empress."

The third in their little procession was unknown to her. Tamsin Graves—name offered in a quiet introduction earlier—Virelia filed the details like a jeweler assessing facets. She had apparently saved Anathemous recently; the currents of gratitude were obvious even without the Force. Virelia did not pry. Tonight, politics would be played with the gentleness of hands on a dance partner's waist.

Exile had taught her restraint as a luxury worth wearing. She felt the room bend around their entrance—recognition, surprise, the thrill of scandal—and simply inclined her hooded head to it. A Jen'ari offered a crystal; she took it with the same grace she'd offer a living servant, because rudeness to staff was the cheapest form of power.

"Breathe," she said mildly, turning her helm so the six violet lenses poured attention over Anathemous. The word was soft, not a command so much as an invitation. "If you need anything, please tell me."

There was a line she did not cross: Virelia did not ask about the stiffness beneath Kaila's poise, the shadow of hurt that made her dress sit like armor. It was mercy. If Anathemous wished to trade truth later for leverage or comfort—those currencies often overlapped—Virelia would accept with interest. For now, she only angled herself a half-step in front of Kaila as a knot of aristocrats approached, letting her helm's inhuman gaze do the work of a spear wall.

The eager faltered; the curious revised their course.

Exiles had uses.

 

[Tamsin Graves]

Theme: Wicked Ones
Wearing: Dress
Tag: Kaila Irons | Darth Virelia

Last time Tamsin had been to an event on Korriban she had still been a naïve child learning the ways of sith. It was strange in a way she was still in some ways that child, but her eyes had been opened too much. She was starting to see this Galaxy for its myriad flaws no longer did it have a shiny glossy finish her slave dreams had beyond the chains. She found more sets of chains after the ones she had escaped. Different but still there giving you an illusion of freedom that did not exist.

She did not know the full extent of the one called Darth Virelia involvement with her sister or what exactly that all entailed. She also found it strange that Darth Virelia acted as if the two had never met before this but the two had in fact met once before when she went by another name at another gathering. Even if she tried to hide behind a mask or different name Tamsin could smell the familiarity, she never forgot people she had met.

She also remembered the things her sister had said about people not to be trusted. Oddly or really not after all this time knowing her sister. Most of the people not to be trusted were people Kaila had entanglements with, in some manner or another. It seemed to be a messy pattern to her it reminded her a bit of first meeting Eira Dyn told she was an ally only to be told later they were never to be trusted.

It confused Tamsin at first but now she was starting to understand the game of Sith politics. One day someone was your closest ally and the next they were your bitter enemy. A sick and twisted game that brought them here to this celebration. A game of showmanship a diplomatic display of dominance. It had been one she had seen Kaila Irons attempt before and every time it brought impending doom upon their house.

Her eyes watched and her ears listened, reading lips and hearing the murmurs as they came into the room. No eyes were on her, they never were, in some ways that was comforting and in others it was infuriating knowing she was not seen as a threat. The Marshal of Echnos listened as Darth Virelia whispered words of encouragement to sister but her dark eyes scanned those who were gathering not sure exactly what she was looking for if anything at all.

Though unknown to others around her she was having a mental conversation with someone else. Someone not at this party but elsewhere in the festivities. "Your dress is amazing Lord Anathemous." She said with a side glance to her sister, a line she had probably already said to Kaila a hundred times now.

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Objective 1 //:
//: Madelyn Lowe //:
//: Attire //:

The fight weighed on the Corellian. It wasn't like the others; it wasn't as clean as it should have been. The person on the other end of the blast door was someone she had known in the past. Had reached for comfort from her voice during the worst of times.

It was particularly annoying since that part of her life was meant to remain in the past.

Sitting at the bar, she grabbed the shot she had ordered a few moments ago and knocked it back. The burn was the good kind, but not the best kind — particularly not the right year for the Corellian whiskey. Still, it was good enough for the time being, and she tipped the bartender and headed through the crowd.

The comm device in her pocket vibrating was enough to alert the Corellian of the woman's arrival. One that she had been waiting on for some time.

War had always played a part in both of their lives. And despite not wanting to let it tear them apart, it was inevitable. Allyson was a field agent; she fought on the front lines at the whim of her duty. Madelyn, on the other hand, had other things to orchestrate from the background.

Despite the difference, Allyson would rather Madelyn be as far from the battlefield as possible — even if it meant that they'd not see each other for some time.

Allyson walked through the fanfare as others arrived. Her hands were carefully in her pockets as she weaved through the small crowd to the speeder that the Minister had arrived in. Shooing away the driver, Allyson carefully opened the door and offered her hand.

"Minister," She grinned as she looked at the woman with an impish glint in her eye.

"It's been some time now, hasn't it?"

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Objective 1
Attire
Allyson Locke
[Open] ​

If there was anything to like about a tomb world, it was that it was a lot cleaner than the ecumenopolises that made up the center of the Order's power. A day without choking smog or being locked in a transparisteel box 2000 levels up in the air was a welcome change. Even better, she was here to celebrate a victory.

Upon her landing, Madelyn had been treated with the respect of one of the Order's great Ladies, a pleasure she was not often afforded, being somewhat caught between the upper echelons of Sith society, and the Imperials that served them below. When her yacht had landed and Madelyn had begun getting ready for the event, her welcome party had showered her with gifts, including fine smoked delicacies, glass containers of coloured spice and copious bottles of liquor. They had also provided her the company of a rather dashing woman who Madelyn had politely sent away. She, after all, had a date tonight.

With her ship's landing ramp open to let the breeze in, Madelyn supped from her drink, smoothing out the wrinkles from her fine shimmersilk dress and wiping powdery residue from her nose. She could hear the sounds of celebration drifting up from the streets to her private landing pad, and finally Madelyn started to feel the tension unwinding from her shoulders, drink and spice and relief slowly relaxing her fraught nerves.

When the Confederation had attacked, Madelyn could not help but draw dark comparisons to the last time she had faced an Imperial enemy. Back then, they had been traitors from within their own ranks. But the feeling was the same. Imperials killing Imperials. Sith killing Imperials. Imperials killing civilians, Sith killing their own. Entropy. Disorder. Collapse. She had feared the Holy Worlds would falter and the whole damn house of cards would come down after. But, it hadn't, they had won, and Brosi and Korriban and every neighbouring world had been left stronger in the wake of it.

Madelyn rose with some ceremony and made her way down the ramp, a smattering of aides following behind her that she waved away with a manicured hand. She wished to be left alone for this reunion. She climbed into the speeder and leaned on her elbow, enjoying the pleasant buzz the mix of substances was producing in her head. Her head perked up as she pulled into the VIP event, emerald eyes immediately fixing on the sharp-faced brunette waiting to help her out. Madelyn couldn't help but smile at the gesture.

Her face had returned to its cool expression of superiority by the time she took Allyson's hand. The wicked glint in her eye made Madelyn's heart quicken. No doubt Allyson was already playing games with her. Oh how Madelyn loved her games.

"So it has." replied Madelyn, stepping out of the speeder with Allyson's help. "And your etiquette hasn't slipped a bit." She scrubbed up nice too, even donning a suit which no doubt left the usually-practical Corellian feeling trapped. Madelyn appreciated the effort. As she stepped down to the ground, Madelyn took the opportunity to lean in very close, her lips almost grazing Allyson's ear, before she returned to her standing position.

"Did you miss me, Agent Locke?"

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: OPEN //:
//: Attire //:

It was a rare moment that Quinn would ride upon the laurels of one who came before her. She had accepted the offer to arrive on Korriban through her Uncle Darth Carnifex , the nephew of her current tutor.

Prazutis had taken an interest in her, one that she was still trying to place. Part of her wondered if it was wholly because of Vesta — or because the man actually believed in her. Quinn was no replacement for what he had lost, but she would do her best to make him proud.

The fanfare of Kaine Zambrano's arrival was something else. She had never seen such a display of blind loyalty. One that worried her, but also sparked a curiosity in the Echani. The man had assembled such a following, basically making him immortal.

She had known the stories of her mothers, of Empyrean, of Srina Talon. Their strength was familiar to her; it made sense. But what of Kaine Zambrano? At what point had he bent the galaxy to such loyalty?

As he descended, she followed soon after, hands holding the silken fabric of the red dress. She was noticed, but not in the same fashion as her Uncle, but it was good enough for the Echani Princess. It had felt like fanfare, and the like had followed her through her travels.

It was nice to be among her own — somewhat.

Quinn parted with her Uncle, promising to return to his side and enjoy his company. She left him for a moment to revel in the worship of mere mortals.

The shambling dead took her off guard, but it was almost to be expected of the King of Korriban. Quinn carefully lifted a flute of champagne and sipped it quietly, admiring the crowd. This was far different from her more recent gatherings; the last one took place on a planet while the slaughter was broadcast.

She mused, wondering what the others were up to — having found a sense of home in the territory to the north.